Fuchsia
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: Stiles doesn't like to take his shirt off. Derek finds out why when he helps Stiles fix the Jeep (which he may have broken). Sometimes everyone needs something to anchor them.


**Fuchsia**

_Stiles doesn't like to take his shirt off. Derek finds out why when he helps Stiles fix the Jeep (which he may have broken). Sometimes everyone needs something to anchor them._

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Based on this tumblr post by DLanaDHZ (other author on this pen name): "Imagine Derek helping Stiles work on the jeep and seeing his shirt ride up enough to reveal a bad tattoo that he got after his mom died while hyped up on Ritalin and avoiding panic attacks. Imagine."

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Feathers.

They looked soft, like a baby bird's first down. And they were so small that Derek almost didn't notice them, except that they were bright pink.

"So am I doing this right or what?"

Derek blinked and looked up from where his gaze had caught on the back of Stiles' left hip, his hands leaving the door he'd just finished installing. Stiles was bent over into the Jeep with a wrench, his head hidden near the floorboards.

"Your head's in the way," Derek commented, eyes flicking back to where Stiles' shirt was riding up.

Stiles huffed. "I don't wanna move in case I break something."

Derek rolled his eyes and moved closer, until he was almost touching Stiles. Then he leaned over to look over Stiles' head. "You're installing new seat sliders. I don't think you could break anything too valuable. And yes, that looks fine."

"I'm installing new seats, full stop, because _someone_ got thrown through the door and then decided it would be a great idea to use my passenger seat as a long range projectile," Stiles complained as he finished tightening the bolt.

The werewolf didn't get a chance to respond because Stiles chose that moment to try and sit up fast, but Derek was still too close and Stiles' head collided with Derek's jaw, causing them both to yelp. Derek stumbled away from the car even as the pain in his face faded while Stiles clapped a hand to his head and rolled to sit by the Jeep's open door.

"Holy shit, dude, your jaw's like iron," he whined. "Next time just head butt the enemy instead of using a weapon. Oh my god."

Derek didn't answer and Stiles didn't wait for one. Instead, the human got off the ground - with minimal flailing - and tested the seat. It slid forward. It slid back. It locked in place. Derek caught himself watching how Stiles' shirt moved over his hips, where the fabric of the old shirt he was wearing hung barely past the top of his jeans. If Stiles leaned over just a little more, Derek could get a better look at those feathers.

"Sweet. I think my baby's back in full working order," Stiles said like a little cheer. Giving his head one last rub, he turned to Derek, then stopped. His right eyebrow rose for a moment and then he looked concerned. "Dude, you okay? My head's not hard enough to hurt you, right? You look...weird. Like maybe you're having one of your mental bouts of man pain or something. No seriously, what? You're freaking me out."

When Stiles finally stopped babbling long enough for Derek to speak, he just opened and then shut his mouth again, no words coming out. Stiles gave him an expectant look and Derek resisted rolling his eyes. This wasn't a life or death situation. It was silly.

"You never told me you had a tattoo," Derek said at length.

Stiles' face went pale and his heart rate rocketed up. "T-tattoo?"

Stepping closer, Derek reached out and tapped the fabric that hid the 2x2 image from view. "This one. I thought you hated needles, pain, and blood."

Stiles swallowed and took a steadying breath before looking up at the taller male. "Don't tell Scott."

That made Derek lift an eyebrow. Why wouldn't Stiles want Scott to know? In that case, how did Scott not already know?

It seemed the questions were written across his face because Stiles gave a mighty shrug and said, "We're like brothers, but that doesn't mean I wanna tell him that I took too much Ritalin, couldn't sleep, and ended up with a fuchsia tattoo of a lotus flower on my hip."

Flower? Derek grabbed the edge of Stiles' shirt and lifted it. He caught a glimpse of the tattoo before Stiles jerked away with an indignant sound.

"Excuse you. Rude much?" he said with a glare.

Derek felt his cheeks flush faintly. "I thought it was feathers," he admitted, embarrassed.

He never used to get embarrassed when he did something out of social norms, when he forgot that most people weren't raised in a family of wolves where privacy and personal space weren't really a thing. In fact, he used to love how peoples' hearts would stutter along with their words and actions when they didn't know how to respond to his lacking social skills. But after so long being part of Scott's pack, after hanging out with teenagers and their parents and regular adults around town, he'd become aware of how different he was. Still, being alone at the old house with Stiles so they could fix the Jeep without anyone asking questions should mean that being weird was acceptable. There was no one around to see it.

After a few long seconds, Stiles gave a long suffering sigh and pulled his shirt completely off. He held the shirt in front of his chest but turned so Derek could get a good look at the tattoo. "Alright, weirdo. Get it over with."

Derek took one step closer, hesitantly. Stiles obviously didn't feel comfortable with his shirt off and showing his tattoo and Derek didn't want to make him feel worse.

The tattoo was, as Stiles had said, fuchsia pink. And it was a lotus flower, but it was also feathers. The petals of the flower were made of fuzzy feathers. The color was faded and had probably been a deeper pink when it was first inked. It made Derek think of something fragile, while his own tattoo was meant to appear strong. Looking at the feather lotus made Derek feel calmer. Just like seeing Stiles made him feel calmer when everything was going to shit around him, er, them, the pack.

"I was having some issues and lotus flowers are meant to be calming," Stiles said softly, and when Derek glanced up at him he saw that Stiles' cheeks were the same color as his tattoo, "but she really liked baby birds. Thought they were cute."

Derek leaned back from the tattoo and Stiles quickly pulled his shirt back on. He wouldn't meet Derek's eyes anymore, staring at his fixed Jeep instead.

"Your mom?" the older male asked. The jump in Stiles' heartbeat answered for him. "How'd you even get it? You're barely old enough to get one now, and that's years old."

It wasn't meant to be offensive, but Stiles hunched his shoulders defensively anyway. "It wasn't easy, okay? It took a lot of work and I don't remember some of it because I hadn't slept in about a week and my mind was in a million places. Let's just leave it at that."

The conversation dropped until Stiles was certain the Jeep was as perfect as it could get. They cleaned up the tools and Derek put the broken parts in his Camero to throw into the first dumpster he drove past. Then Stiles thanked him for the help and climbed into the driver's seat of the Jeep. Derek put his hand on the edge of the window before Stiles could turn the ignition.

"If it helped," he said, with a pointed look toward Stiles' hip, "then it was worth it. And you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

Stiles blinked several times before his face scrunched up. "Dude, it's pink. I don't even remember why I picked pink. Not that there's anything wrong with pink but man, it's just soooo _pink_."

Derek cocked his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow. "It's bright and you were in a dark place," he reasoned. "And I'm sure you could come up with a story about how it proves how brave and confident you are, if you needed to. You're good at talking."

The last bit wasn't meant as a compliment, but Stiles started beaming anyway. He reached out of the Jeep and pat Derek on the face.

"Aww, thanks," he cooed.

Derek growled, instantly regretting trying to make Stiles feel better. Stiles at least had the decency to look apologetic.

"Maybe I will. You know, if anyone else sees it," he agreed, voice just shy of confident. "But I still don't want you to tell Scott. Or my dad. Or the pack. Got it?" He pointed at Derek sternly, his finger nearly touching Derek's nose. "You've got all your business and I've got mine and we don't go spilling other people's business. Unless it'd save their life. But otherwise no."

Derek pretended to try and bite the finger and Stiles recoiled as fast as a snake and narrowed his eyes.

With a smirk, Derek said, "Your 'business' is safe with me."

For several long seconds, Stiles just looked at him. His eyes traveled all over Derek's face, slowly, like he was searching for something. Then he nodded and turned the key, the Jeep jumping to life. Even long after the sounds of the Jeep had faded away, Derek stood staring after it, his fingers itching to learn if those feathers were as soft as they looked.

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fin.


End file.
